


wonderful

by mjolnirdork



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers, Tin Can Brothers RPF
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Owen Carvour Lives, Post-Canon, Starkid reference, gay bois, spies are forever - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjolnirdork/pseuds/mjolnirdork
Summary: Curt still has a drinking problem, Owen is a softy, nobody dies, everyone is happy, my depression is cured.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 9
Kudos: 106





	wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> commission for @siriuslysinning on tumblr. i know you said mostly fluff and a little angst so whatever amount of either is in here, i apologize. XD
> 
> (owEn iSn’T dEAD)

“You really shouldn’t at this time of day.”

The kitchen table of the tiny, hastily acquired apartment leans precariously to the left, the afternoon sun casting a bright glow onto the scattered objects on the surface. Two spies sit opposite each other at the table, gazing into the other’s shadowed eyes.

Whiskey swirls around in a coffee mug, handle being loosely squeezed by Curt’s unsteady hands. He raises his head to reply, eyes glazed over and mouth set in a smile that had seen better days. 30 of those shots could do that to a man.

(Well, that, and the fact the object of his self-medication was looking him in the eye, but that was beside the point.)

“Not until the job’s done, huh?” Curt replies lazily, echoing the same words he’d said in jest when— when that happened.

Shit.

A spark of soberness shoots into his eyes.  
He drains it down with a swig of the poison. The last thing he needs right now is a clear mind.

Why did he even cry? Owen was right there all along. Right there, right there, right where he was too much of an idiot to wake up and realize what a fool he was. Such a—

Owen firmly grasps the bottle away from Curt’s reaching hands. “That’s enough love.”  
“Love?” Curt snorts, letting his hand fall onto the table. “Is that what we’re doing now?”  
Owen’s face is quiet as he locks the bottle of whiskey into a cupboard. “We always have. You’re just too drunk to hear it.”

Curt shrugs, ignoring the tug on his conscience that pops up. “And that’s so bad? Compared to, what, casually torturing people?”  
“Maybe.” Owen drags his fingers against the cupboard handle, shaking his head as he sits back down, barely touching his own glass. “Has it been that long, old pal?”  
“You tell me.” Curt sits in a slump, back hunching over.

This is normal. Swallowing enough poison to erase his existence for an hour of pure emptiness is normal. What isn’t normal is how unusually deep Owen’s eyes are, or the rush of emotions infecting his quiet heart. That hadn’t been normal in four years. Damnit, he should’ve taken another shot.

“What?”  
“You mourned. That’s what.”  
“What else did you think I’d do, asshole?”

Owen leans back in his chair, a thin smile forming on his face. “Move on. Obviously. Even your numbskulled brain would—should’ve picked itself up like you did when you left. Why,” he laughs here, the jerk laughs, Curt’s missed his laugh for so so long, Owen Carvour is laughing, someone save his soul, “why would anyone be so damn loyal for someone who died?”

There’s a hollow tone in his voice after the laughter dies away. “Hell, even I wouldn’t do that.”

Curt feels the liquor start to affect him. Paired with Owen’s entire existence, it’s a hell of a drug.

“Yeah, but I actually loved you,” he snaps, letting his words tumble over in a drunken fury. He’s been holding all of this in since the mission ended, planning on never thinking about it again, and here comes his ex-lover returned from the grave to undo him all over again. He hopes Owen’s proud of how deep he can break him.

“And- and I didn’t know what else to do— and now you’re not dead and I didn’t shoot you and somehow we’re both sharing an apartment in New York. B-Because that’s what partners fucking do—”

His eyes slowly close and he lets his mind shut down as he passes out.

Fuck Owen Carvour anyway.

***

The next thing Curt remembers is waking up on the scraggly couch, Owen handing him a glass of water. He rubs his eyes and glances at a plate of food left on the table and the lack of sun shining through the window.

“What time is it?” He cautiously takes the glass, wincing at how stiff his arm is.

“3 am Curt, three damn am.” Owen collapses onto the couch, eyes closing as he rests his head on Curt’s shoulder. “I had that warmed up since 8. You’re lucky I love you.”  
Curt nearly chokes on his water. “What?”  
“What, “I love you”?” Owen rolls his eyes, bemused. “Finally catching up, are you?”  
Curt shakes his head, his brain rushing with thoughts.“You can cook? Why did I not know that?”  
“Probably since you were far more interested in ruining my life. But I figure we’re even now, wouldn't you agree?” Owen lifts his head, almost like he was there the whole time.

(Curt wouldn’t mind if he was, just saying, but what the h e l l, Owen?)

“Forget that, I’m still lost at the part where you love me.” Curt sets the glass down, looking down at Owen’s face, almost like how they used to before the fall, before everything. God, these emotions. “I don’t get it.”

He doesn’t want it to end.

“Stay lost. I’m not saying it again.”  
“But you tortured me.”  
“I did, yes.” Owen straightens, tucking a lock of his hair (his stupidly good hair, to make things worse) behind his ear. Curt tries not to melt right then and there.  
“You were going to kill me.”  
“That’s right.”  
Curt shakes his head. “So what changed?”

In hindsight, he should’ve asked these important questions before leaving the Deadliest Man Alive the key to his bare apartment without thinking twice when said man showed up and started living here. But choices, choices.

Owen looks around, thumb flicking against his forefinger absentmindedly as he leans back on Curt. “Nothing.”  
“Bull.”  
“I mean it, nothing. You’re still an arrogant fool who needs someone to watch their back. I’m still in love with you. Get used to it.” He kicks his loafers off and tucks his feet under him, smirking at Curt’s obvious confusion.  
“But you hated me.”  
“People can have conflicting emotions, Mega. Has four years taught you nothing?”  
Curt scoffs. “Probably.” He hopes his bravado covers up the nerves that haven’t been dulled.

Owen chuckles a little. “Typical Curt.”  
“Typical jerk.” Curt finds himself sinking into the touch, it’s been so long since anyone actually held him like this, and Tatiana and his mother don’t count.

They sit together in the silence of a New York apartment, old jazz music floating through an open window from a flat down the street. Cars honk and people scream and Curt Mega is back on his bullshit with Owen Carvour.

The food goes untouched.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for such a long time,” Owen admits, lacing a toughened hand into Curt’s shaky one. “Damn it feels good.”  
Curt lets a smile spread across his face, almost a real smile. “But what about Chimera?”

Owen doesn’t answer at first, just starts to comb through Curt’s hair. “I thought killing people would make me happy. But you know what, dear?”  
“What?”  
“It doesn’t.” Owen sighs dramatically. “It just makes them dead.”  
Curt can’t miss the humor of that sentiment. “I mean, kinda.”

“So, you know, when we crossed paths again on the stairs, after you shot my gun away, I guess I started thinking, “you know, maybe with Curt it would be different.” Owen says the next words softly, almost a hopeful prayer. “ “Maybe they’d be okay”?”

Curt shifts his body, letting his eyes lock with Owen’s. “Is okay good?”

It’s stupid, he knows, but he has to ask.

Owen replies with a quick kiss, gently meeting Curt’s shocked self. He pulls away with a glint in his eye. “Darling, okay is… wonderful.”

Somehow, despite the hell of his mind, Curt can agree. “Okay.”  
Maybe he believes it.

“But seriously love, you need to stop drinking, that’s unhealthy as fuck.”

Curt pretends to be upset. “Fuck you.”

(Curt almost means it. Almost.)

Owen sighs. “Maybe you will, Mega. Maybe you will.”


End file.
